A Terrible Fall of Angels (Zaniel Havelock #1)(106)

“There you go again using my first name, keep that up and I’ll think you’re sweet on me.”

Her tone made me smile. “You’re my favorite witch, you know that.”

“Well, then it’s lucky we’ll have a chaperone; Louie came home early from work to take care of me, so you’ll have to fantasize about sexy witches on your own time.” She laughed then, her I’m-a-dirty-old-lady laugh, which she wasn’t supposed to use at work anymore. It made me feel better that she could laugh, and I knew she didn’t mean it. She never meant it.

“Your wife is a good enough witch to keep us both in line,” I said.

She laughed again. “Get your fabulous body over here so we can figure out what’s going on, Havoc.”

I heard a voice in the background and Ravensong said, “Louie reminded me that I’m supposed to practice politically correct speech even when I’m not at work, so I don’t get written up again.”

I almost pointed out that she’d been saying things that sexual at work to me earlier today but stopped myself in time. I was not going to tattle to her wife about work stuff. “I did not report you for sexual harassment,” I finally said.

“I know you didn’t, Havoc, but someone did, and so I’ve got to behave myself a little better.” She had to be thinking she’d already misbehaved today, but we were both going to pretend in case her wife could hear my end of the conversation.

“I’ll help you behave at work, if that’s what you want?”

She sighed. “Not what I want, but . . .” She took the phone away from her mouth and then came back on. “Louie says she’ll have tea waiting for you when you get here.”

“Tell her thanks.”

“You can tell her yourself once you get here.”

I glimpsed Emma in the shop between customers. “I’ve got to say goodbye to my friends, then I’ll be heading your way.”

“See you soon, Havoc.”

“Same, Ravensong.” We both hung up and I went into the shop to at least leave a message for Jamie with Emma. I was waiting while Emma finished checking out some customers when my phone rang again. It was Charleston.

“Hello, Lieutenant, is everything okay?”

“No, if you are fit for duty, I need you.”

“I’m out with friends, I’m good, what’s wrong?”

“I’m looking at what’s left of another college student and her boyfriend.”

“What do you mean, what’s left?” I asked, and started walking away from the happy customers and Emma, because whatever he was about to say was nothing they needed to hear.

“I mean that it’s worse than the last victim, but it’s another woman that Cookson was stalking.”

“He’s dead, we found his body exploded into bits at the hospital,” I said.

“We found skin, just skin.”

“Are you saying he’s alive and that he did this?”

“I don’t know, Havoc. I’ve already got a request in for the ME to give me a piece of the skin so I can ask the loa which side of the veil Cookson is on. Give me a piece of him and I’ll find him on Earth or in Hell.”

“Give me the address and I’ll—”

“No, I don’t need you here. I assumed that the demon inside Cookson had betrayed and killed him like they usually do, but either Cookson is still alive or the demon is doing it as part of the bargain, so either way the women are in danger.”

“Agreed, what do you want me to do, Lieutenant?”

“We have three more women to protect. I’ve got uniforms en route to them, but they’re going to need magic.”

“Just tell me where and I’ll meet them.”

“Tell me where you are, Havoc, and I’ll send you to the nearest potential victim. You may be the closest to the university campus and to the two women we have a bead on.”

“Where’s the third?”

“She’s meeting her boyfriend somewhere, no one seems to know where.”

“Okay, send me pictures so I can recognize them all, and I’ll head to the university to back up the uniforms. Are you sure you don’t need me at the crime scene?”

“We got plenty of hands at the crime scene. What I don’t have is enough people covering these girls.”

“Yes, sir.”

I sent a quick text to Ravensong, apologizing for canceling our meet-up and promising to reschedule as soon as I could. I’d pressed SEND when the first pictures came through. They all had long, straight, dark hair and looked eerily like our first victim. Cookson really did have a type. Then a fourth picture came through that was a blonde and it wasn’t a school photo, but something more candid.

“Are we looking for three or four other potential victims?” I asked.

“Three, but the last girl dyed her hair blond recently, so I’m sending you her school shot and one her roommate took this week.”

I stared at the last two photos. “Can you send me a better full face of the blonde, sir?”

“I’ll check, what’s up?”

“I think I know where she is, but I want to be sure I’m guarding the right person. I don’t want to divide our resources on the wrong blonde.”